


Running Off the Road

by Menolly



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menolly/pseuds/Menolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After watching House leap from the balcony in Out of the Chute Wilson drives home, running into trouble along the way. Written for sick wilson challenge on LJ. House & Wilson friendship fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running Off the Road

Wilson could not get the images out of his mind as he drove home. House, falling to the ground. In those few seconds he'd imagined House hitting the concrete far below, finally succeeding in killing himself. He'd completely forgotten about the pool. When House had come up laughing and grinning he'd wanted to smash his silly head against the side of the pool.

He was going home, washing his hands of the whole thing. He'd tried to help House, tried to offer counsel and a supportive shoulder and this is what he got for his trouble. He'd go home to his diabetic cat and his empty loft and tomorrow morning he'd go back to work and forget about House.

He was still thinking about House when he drove past the traffic cones, signalling night road work, still thinking about him when he saw the man step out from behind a vehicle and into the path of Wilson's car.

He slammed on the brakes, jerking the wheel to the left, bracing himself against the seat for impact. The Volvo spun and slid and took out the cones one by one, the last thing Wilson felt was the impact as another car slammed into his and the airbag exploded in his face.

The next few hours were a blur, of people rushing to his car, banging on the door. Of hands all over him, of pain as he was cut out of the car, of blood dripping down his face. One of the paramedics recognised him and made sure he was transported to Princeton Plainsboro rather than General. In the ER he was given priority and rushed through. Cuddy appeared, looking oddly vulnerable in casual clothing, worn down by the events of the last week or so. Wilson looked past her, searching for someone else.

"He's not answering his phone. Chase has gone to that hotel looking for him," Cuddy reassured him. "He'll come." She touched him gently on his arm, careful of the bruises. "He'll come for you, Wilson."

Wilson closed his eyes and remembered that jump, wondered in what state Chase would find House if he found him at all. He wanted to tell Cuddy about the jump, to warn her just what lengths House was going to but the pain was too much. His entire body shrieked with pain. He felt wetness on his face and realised he was crying.

Gentle hands keep stroking his arms and there was pain medicine from somewhere and he lost consciousness.

* * *

House was there when he woke up. Just standing at the end of the bed, leaning on his cane, staring at him.

"You should have stayed to party," House said flatly.

Wilson tried to focus his bleary eyes. His head was pounding, he felt like he'd been hit by one of House's monster trucks.

"Idiot! Thought you'd know how to drive by now. You're meant to drive between the cones, not hit them all."

Wilson wondered how House knew what had happened, but then remembered that this was _House._ He'd probably hacked into the police files, read the ambulance report and interrogated the other drivers by now. He licked his dry lips and stared at the water jug and House begrudgingly poured him a glass of water and brought it over to him.

"Here, seeing as you're going to play the poor cripple card I'll give you a drink. Oh, you have three cracked ribs, a hairline fracture to the left forearm, a broken ankle, a skull fracture and two lovely black eyes from the airbag by the way. I bet you have a killer headache too. But you managed to miss the moron road worker - I'm sure he's very grateful. Are you going to make a career of saving people? Oh wait - no you're not, you're an oncologist."

Wilson grimaced, taking a sip of the water through the straw, and laying back against the pillows. No wonder he hurt all over with that list of injuries. He didn't have enough energy to answer House's witticisms.

He looked at House and noticed that his knuckles were white on the cane, his hand trembling. House followed his gaze and looked away.

"You scared me," he admitted quietly. "Chase wasn't sure how bad it was when he found me. You had a head injury..."

"Welcome to my world, Superman - jump off any tall buildings lately?" Wilson asked bitterly.

House looked back at him.

"I was jumping into the pool," he said defensively. "I wasn't trying to kill myself, whatever you might have thought."

"You didn't much care if you lived or died though, did you? You could have missed the pool, you could have hit your head on the side, you could have hit the bottom. _Anything_ could have happened House, and you didn't give a shit. _I_ thought you were going to die. You were playing Russian Roulette with your life and I was watching."

Wilson leaned back, closing his eyes, fumbling for the morphine button. He pressed it and felt the drug seep into his body and the pain begin to recede.

"Go on House, get back to your prostitutes, and your drugs and your party - see if they make you happy," he said before succumbing to sleep again.

* * *

The next couple of days passed in brief periods of consciousness and much sleeping. Nurses came and went and just about everyone who worked in the hospital came to visit him. His room was overflowing with flowers, chocolates and stuffed animals. House stayed away. In his lucid moments Wilson wondered what he was doing, what extremes he was going to to numb the pain in his body and his heart. He couldn't help him, he couldn't help him before and he certainly couldn't now, trapped in this bed.

It was the middle of the third night when he saw him again. He'd been sleeping and then he woke and saw him there, standing at the end of the bed again.

Wilson just looked at him and House came up to the side of the bed, pressing something into Wilson's palm.

Wilson looked down, it was a Vicodin bottle, prescribed to Gregory House by some doctor he'd never heard of.

"For you," House said.

Wilson laughed bitterly, and gestured to his IV, and attached morphine pump.

"Don't need it, House, I've got it on tap. Don't want to deprive you," he tried to open his hand to release the bottle but House tightened his fist around it. He stared at him in surprise, House rarely touched him.

"Take them."

He realised then what House was saying, without saying it, and he held the bottle tightly.

"I'm going away for a few weeks. I've told the kids they have to do Wilson-sitting duty, watch out for Masters, - she's looking for a man, she probably likes the helpless type."

Wilson looked at him, at the red rimmed eyes, the shaking hands, a man sliding over into withdrawal.

"You'll be back?"

House nodded firmly. "Wilson on crutches, wouldn't miss it for the world. You won't beat my mad skillz in a wheelchair though."

House limped to the door and then looked back.

"Oh, and don't worry about the cat. I took good care of it."

Wilson's eyes opened in alarm - Sarah, he'd completely forgotten about her.

"House! House! Wait!"

It was too late, House was gone. Wilson looked around, trying to find the call button, he had to let someone know about Sarah.

Then he saw it, on the floor, a cat fast asleep in a carrier, the little pouch with her medical supplies next to her.

Wilson relaxed. House always knew what he needed, when he didn't even know it himself. He looked down at the little prescription bottle in his palm.

"What do you do when you win?" he asked the sleeping cat softly.

He tucked the bottle safely away in the bedside drawer and went back to sleep.


End file.
